Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

"Here ye are."

Her husband had burst into her chamber without even knocking, much like the storms that had raged over the mountains. Yet, Agnes had barely been able to muster the energy to turn around. She'd been hovering in front of the fireplace, leaning against the wall, with her arms wrapped around herself. But the relief in his voice gave her pause, and she cast him a quizzical look as she turned around.

Did you think I was going to run off somewhere?

The wry look in Leo's eyes was answer enough, and Agnes shook her head. Before she could speak, he asked, "Want me to send Lavinia back to England?"

Agnes huffed out a laugh and again shook her head.

As Leo drew closer, her arms loosened, and she wanted to step forward, to press her face against his chest. She wanted to feel his arms around her. She wanted to shake off the feelings that Lavinia stirred in her heart.

Why does my mother make me feel so… alone?

Instead, she focused on Dusty, curled on the divan, purring madly, and then the fine tapestries on the walls. The soft rug under her feet, the fire at her back, and not the man in front of her. The man she had been pining after for weeks and yet had told herself to keep her distance from.

After learning about the fire and part of Leo's past, she'd felt it would be selfish to ask anything more of him. He had so much to worry about and take care of—his people, this castle, these lands…

"Nes."

Her eyes closed.

No, don't call me that.

And she swore she heard him answer, ach, but I must.

His hands gently disentangled her arms, and then she was pressed against him. The sturdy strength of him held her up, and his strong, thick arms wrapped around her back. She breathed in his familiar scent, something like smoke and pine with a hint of musk.

Agnes rested her head against his chest and let her hands fist into his shirt. She waited for Leo to speak or for this moment to end, but he did not pull away. He only wrapped his arms around her tighter and rested his cheek on the top of her head.

At that, Agnes threw her arms around him and held on tightly, fighting back tears, not wanting to cry during this lovely moment…

A ragged breath escaped her, and Leo let out a soft huff of air, then his hand stroked up her spine.

He continued to rub her back, murmuring something in Gaelic into her hair, and then cupping the back of her neck. At that, Agnes melted against him, and everything but him suddenly felt deliciously far away. Pulling in a deep breath, she gathered herself and straightened her spine.

Leo felt the change in her, and his grip loosened, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders as she looked up at him. Patting his chest, she smiled, but he returned it with a searching, stern look.

"At least she's trying?" Agnes offered.

"Mayhap," Leo said and cupped her face in his hand. She tried not to nuzzle it like Dusty might. "Even still, that may nae be enough for ye. And that is fine, Nes. Ye must ken that."

Those words pierced something deep and raw inside of Agnes, a sense of stumbling up to a dark crevasse. One that cut through her heart. One she'd never known was there.

"I-I'm trying. Thank you, Leo," Agnes said and stepped back.

He seemed reluctant to let her go, and she refocused on him. Earlier at dinner, she'd noticed the red patches around the edge of his mask, as though the skin had gotten irritated. Despite the sunshine, it had been a cold and raw day, which hadn't helped matters.

Indeed, ever since the fire, she'd noticed Leo adjusting his mask. At first, she'd thought it was the memory, but now she suspected dust had irritated the skin. And rather than letting it breathe, as Sister Theresa had always advised, Leo had covered it up. Irritating it more and more in the time being, a constant reminder?—

"What is that look, wife?" Leo asked and raised an eyebrow at her.

Agnes suppressed a shiver, but she loved it when he looked at her and spoke to her so.

Leo, however, would not love what she was about to say.

"I need to tend to you now, husband," she said softly. "Please sit."

Leo sat on the divan, next to Dusty, who stretched and rolled over, then clambered up onto his lap. The Laird, whose hand was bigger than the kitten, still stroked the tiny creature gently.

As Agnes approached, Leo shook his head. "Shoulder is fine—healed weeks ago. What is this really about?"

At that moment, Agnes heard a clatter in the hall and the cheerful voices of maids. It shifted the air in the room, and even Dusty raced away, darting under the bed, where he liked to hide.

Leo stirred, as though he meant to get up and leave. Agnes leaned in and pressed a kiss to his bare cheek, stopping him. Then she met his eyes and spoke in a low voice, one she didn't quite recognize.

"Take me to your tower, My Laird."

Ten minutes later, Leo shut the door to his tower behind them and rubbed at his neck.

There was an electric pulse in the air, an awareness of the other, and Leo wondered at himself. But more of his attention was taken up by Agnes, who seemed unable to believe she was here.

From the way her eyes flicked over him and the rueful curve of her lips, Leo suspected she thought it was curiosity or indulgence that had swayed him. Even pity, perhaps because he felt grieved for her after the events of the evening.

Only, it was nothing of the sort, and Leo didn't know how to explain that to her. When she'd playfully ordered him, a mix of relief and tenderness had overwhelmed him. It was equal parts compulsion and desire that motivated his decision to listen to her.

After all, so far, listening to Agnes had worked in his favor.

Agnes had crossed the threshold of his domain with confidence, but now it was rapidly shrinking, and she wended her way forward with the air of a thief. Her steps were quiet and careful, her gaze everywhere. Leo also noted that her hands kept twisting the straps of that bag she'd insisted on bringing along.

If he hadn't seen Dusty escape under her bed back in her chambers, he might have thought the kitten was in there.

"Would you sit, please?" Agnes suddenly asked and gestured to a seat in front of the fireplace.

It was a big, low chair, cushioned in a deep red fabric, with a footstool to the side of it. It was also more than big enough for the two of them. Now, Leo's heart rate picked up, and he fought a smile as he sat, wondering if his sassenach was thrown by his compliance. The telltale hitch of her breath seemed to imply as much.

"I need to tend to you now, husband."

Aye, he was curious to see how his wife would tend to him. He was happy to let her. He'd more than comply if Agnes thought to join him on this chair?—

He blinked at the clink of glass and stiffened as Agnes began arranging bottles on a nearby table. His chest rose and fell as he leaned back, his hands gripping the armrests. A roar rumbled somewhere deep inside of him.

Somehow, he fought it down. Perhaps because he knew that Agnes would never forgive him if he knocked all those precious things to the floor. Not when he'd found out only yesterday that she'd been working with Granny Ro for the last week.

Yet, he could not stop the sardonic expression that twisted his face, never more aware of the thin leather mask that protected the world from his sins, his scars.

"Ach," he said in a tight voice. "So that's what this is." Agnes looked up, uncertainty making the green of her eyes too fragile. "Canny thing."

"Leo—"

His mouth twisted down, and he felt distant from her, as though she stood on the other side of the loch with all the good things he'd left behind seven years ago. She seemed to sense it from the way she involuntarily reached for him and then drew back.

"I give ye credit for yer timing," Leo said and shook his head. "And here I thought…"

Why could she not leave well enough alone? He'd taken care of himself for nearly a decade, and now this scrap of womanhood, this outlander, thought to tell him how to take care of himself? His hands flexed with the urge to shake her, to make her see sense—to just stop.

And for a moment, Agnes hesitated, glancing down at the bottles as though regretting it and then looking back at him. He thought she'd throw herself at him, from the flicker in her eyes, and let him continue as he always had.

As I had to, to survive, to be able to get through each damned day…

But then Agnes seemed to draw from a deep well of courage and straightened up, a calm settling over her.

Despite himself, Leo felt some of the fight go out of him. Sometimes, he thought he knew exactly what was in his wife's head. Other times, like now, she was as unfathomable as the stars.

"I can see that the mask has been bothering you, Leo," Agnes said in a soothing tone.

And he hated that it worked, pouring over him like that damned honey she was always suggesting. He sensed that she knew she needed to coax him back into the room.

"That's all. And I thought you would be more comfortable here."

For a moment, Leo felt himself giving in and then forced himself to look away. "How many times must I ask ye?—"

"As many times as you must," Agnes said, and his gaze snapped back to hers. She smiled at him. "You forget that I grew up in a convent. I fear my patience will far outlast yours, My Laird."

Leo had to bite back a laugh and then glanced over at the remedies. "I'm guessin' ye came up with somethin' to deter the vermin and bugs from yer honey solution?"

"I did," Agnes replied. "I've been working with Granny Ro. We added mint and a few other scents that are good at keeping away flies and mice and such. And we tested it out. No flies and no vermin go near it."

"I…" He glanced at the bottles, then her hopeful face.

She'd tried to keep secret the fact that she'd worked with Granny Ro, probably for this moment. Hoping it might sway him. And dammit if it did a bit. But he was more touched that she was so adamant, even if it was infuriating.

"I shall use it then, thank ye."

"What do you mean?" Agnes asked.

"I shall apply it." He waved a hand at her. "Off with ye, lass. Night."

Agnes tilted her head. "No."

Leo's eyes went wide, and he almost jumped to his feet. "Say that again, wife?"

She huffed out a soft laugh. " No . I know the right amounts and how to massage it in. And I want to help."

There was a moment of silence, where only the cracking and snapping of the logs in the fireplace could be heard, as neither looked away. Leo knew he was glaring, but Agnes's gaze seemed to soften.

She came forward, and for the first time since they'd met, Leo drew back. His spine was rigid against the chair, and his hands gripped the armrests so hard that he thought he heard them crack.

Agnes's eyes flicked down and back up. She put a gentle hand on his clenched fist and then on his unscarred cheek. Her fingers traced gently over his brow to the mask and rested there.

"How long must I wait, I wonder?"

"For what?" Leo asked in a hoarse voice.

"For you to realize that I do not mind that you have scars, Leo."

Leo's jaw clenched. "Because ye havenae seen them." The words burst out of him, and he was barely conscious of shoving himself out of that chair, of pacing toward the window and staring out into the gloom of night.

The wind sighed around Briorn, and he saw a glimmer of light come and go across the loch, a sliver of moonlight. Behind him, he heard the soft patter of Agnes's footsteps and saw the blurred reflection of her in the window. Winsome and worried.

Leo forced himself to continue, to not throw her out, though he was tempted to. "Grown men who have seen battle, women who ken the dangers of the Highlands, and folk who dinnae quail—they cannae bear to look at me."

Agnes's voice had steel in it as she said, "I am not those people. And are you so sure?—"

Leo could not help it—he flinched. Agnes's posture changed in the reflection, and she broke off mid-sentence. He thought she would retreat finally, but his little almost-nun came closer. She murmured something he did not quite hear, and then a small hand touched his back.

But Leo could not look back at her, not when he was reliving the moments when he'd been trying to make a hasty arrangement with Laird Grierson to wed Flora. Amid all the chaos and upheaval after his parents' deaths, the loss of MacLarsen Castle, and the vulnerability of their clan, everyone agreed it was prudent. It would bolster their ranks and give them a strong ally.

Even now, Leo only felt frustration for what could have been. An easier time of building Briorn, a bit more food in the bellies of his people, and more guards to watch their lands. As it was, without the Grierson dowry, they had struggled.

He'd thought, at first, that Flora was of the same mind. And that maybe a bit of fondness would come in time if they were lucky. She'd been pretty enough, with a touch of mischief.

Until she demanded much the same as Agnes, though without kindness. No, she'd demanded it with the imperiousness that seemed to be part of her every breath, something that Leo had once found so adorable.

Let me see. I cannae say I care for this mask, Leo. Ye were always so handsome.

He could still see the room, wooden and bright, despite the coming evening. They'd hastily constructed it to give themselves shelter as they built Briorn Castle. Flora had complained about it as a queen might. She'd also stolen into this chamber, much to his amusement, until she started clucking at him.

Leo remembered that he'd jerked away as she went to snatch off his mask.

Ye cannae deny yer future wife this. I must ken what I'll be lying with—a beast or a man.

She'd meant the latter part in jest, but Leo had gone still and cold with horror, thinking someone had told her. And Flora had lunged, ripping off his mask.

For a moment, a moment that seemed to last an eternity, he'd been panicked, almost sick to his stomach. Then, for a mere half-breath, he had relaxed. For Flora had not reacted.

Och, ye're, he'd started to say. And then, he'd looked at her.

Flora had gasped, dropped his mask, and gone pale, backing away. Leo had advanced toward her, and she'd screamed. A scream that made him clap his hands over his ears, his shoulders hunching. A shrill and haunting sound that had reminded him too much of the Caoineag .

And so Flora had fled from the room, fled from him. Sobbing and wailing, lamenting the loss of his beauty. When Leo had gone after her, she'd fainted, and Kristie had come running. His sister's face had turned grim, and she'd shooed him away. Later, he'd learned that Flora had been ill.

Since then, he'd rarely seen her—or the Griersons, for that matter. They lived far enough away, down to the south, that he could almost forget about them. Every so often, he would see her at a gathering, but he stayed far away.

He'd never forget how she screamed.

When the Queen's Edict had come, Leo had thought it both a cruel jest and a timely blessing. An English bride would not ask him to remove his mask, nor would she have a choice in marrying him. At least, he would continue his line.

He sighed. Of course, he could never have imagined Agnes.

"Aye," Leo said, attempting a gentle tone, trying to get her to see even though he still did not turn around.

Her hand remained on him, and he thought he felt her fingers press harder against him.

"I am sure that I am more man than beast. And by some stolen grace, I have ye as me wife, Nes. I ken nae how I am so fortunate."

His voice rasped, low and ugly, and the skin under his mask prickled. If he had sprouted fur and claws, he would not have been surprised. Now he could not soften his words or his tone as he continued.

"I ken yer heart is lovely and kind, but when we got married, I made a vow that I wouldnae drag ye into me hell. I wouldnae let ye near this horror and sin that I wear on me face." He gestured to himself. "I would keep ye away so that ye would stay."

Agnes's breath caught, and she went to speak but then stopped.

He did not look at her, but he straightened up and stepped away from her gentle touch.

"I willnae show ye me face," he said. "I willnae let ye meet the Beast of Briorn. I willnae scare ye—nae any more than I have." He paused, and there was silence for several moments. "Give me that at least, wife."